


Because They Love Him

by AKnightOfAGoodKing



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-30 06:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5153279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKnightOfAGoodKing/pseuds/AKnightOfAGoodKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One - shots of Napoleon & Gaby loving their favorite Russian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They Want His Attention

On Sunday mornings, when all three of them had the weekend off, they always chose to stay in their apartment complex somewhere near UNCLE headquarters in London, sitting around doing nothing much. Sometimes, the TV was on just to be background sound. Sometimes, Gaby played music with the radio or gramophone. Most of the time, though, they simply sat around, relaxing. Napoleon would be reading up on the artistic world, and Gaby the book she found that week from the library. Both would be sitting on either side of Illya, who would be playing chess by himself. Both Napoleon and Gaby liked these Sundays during the summer season because it was when strawberries are in season, and Illya _adored_  strawberries.

Every chance they got for these Sundays, Napoleon would buy a box of the biggest, reddest strawberries he could find at the market, replenishing their supply of honey and sugar when necessary. He put the box of the red fruit in the fridge, and Gaby took it out the next day, washed them, and brought them into the small living room of their apartment with a small spoon, a jar of honey or a small plate of sugar, whichever she preferred that Sunday. And the Russian perked up on the couch every time.

He reached out for one, but they stopped him, either pushing the strawberries or his hands away. "Patience, Peril," Napoleon said, smirking as he held up a strawberry lightly layered with honey in his hand and his free arm around the larger man's shoulder. "Open up."

Illya frowned. "I can feed myself, Cowboy," he replied, his accent thick with irritation. He looked away to keep away from temptation.

"You're teasing too much, Napoleon," Gaby said, taking the strawberry in Napoleon's hand with her mouth before pulling Illya by the back of his head and feeds him it with a kiss. The first kiss was always a sweet kiss, and Illya kissed more lively than usual, wanting to savor the sweetness and the hint of sourness. "It's such a nice day today, isn't it?" she breathed out after they parted. Illya nodded, blushing slightly as he feels her hand on his thigh.

"That's not fair," Napoleon said, pretending to pout as he grabbed the Russian's face by the chin. "I want to eat too." He leaned in, and Illya's eyes closed when their lips touch, a soft and gentle brush as the American licked away the juices that escaped during the earlier, much more passionate kiss.

"There are more on the table," Illya commented, sounding breathless, as Napoleon continues to lick him. "I know how to share, Cowboy."

"Oh, it's not the strawberries I want, Peril, and I'm more worried about whether Gaby knows how to share."

Gaby chuckled, placing Illya's hands on his knees. He knew that she wanted him to keep them there, locking both his arms and legs in place, and he would keep them there because she wanted him to. The power she had over him, the power _they_ had over him, and secretly, he was glad that neither took advantage of it. "I know how to share," she said, smiling as she pets the blond's hair. "You just have to play nice, Napoleon."

"So I am a plaything, Chop Shop Girl?" Illya questioned, frowning in a way to made his lower lip stick out in the most adorable way. He had yet to move.

Gaby kissed butterflies onto his cheeks. "Of course not, Illya. Napoleon and I are playing with each other."

"Then should I give you two room?"

"Now you're playing us," Napoleon said, holding a strawberry in his hand again, and this time, Illya took it, taking a moment to suck off any honey left on Napoleon's fingers. The American smiled, pleased, and he took a share of the strawberry already in the Russian's warm, sweet mouth, "Don't worry, Peril. There is always room for you. We will make sure of it."

As the American spoke, Gaby took the chance to dab a small spoonful of honey on her wrist, and she brought her wrist to Illya's lips. Without being told, Illya started licking up the sweetness on her skin, lapping it greedily. "Just as long as we can get your attention, Illya," she added, nipping the corner of the Russian's ear. He moaned lightly, still licking the sweetness on her wrist. "Sometimes, I wish I could keep you all to myself."

Illya blushed, even more when Napoleon started sucking at the base of his neck, not hiding the desire to mark the Russian. Illya sighed loudly, feeling his entire heat up little by little.

They certainly do have his attention now.


	2. They Are, When Necessary, Quite Possessive

It had been only half an hour, and Illya was ready to kill the next person who came up to him and talking about him like he wasn’t even there. Yes, sure, this assignment had him in the role of a submissive slave, but now, he was regretting that he didn’t put up a bigger fight. 

Their assignment was to investigate an underground slave market of exotic people and catch everyone involved - especially the host - red handed, and there were many people in high places tonight, looking at the slaves chained up against the long wall of the underground level of a corrupt politician’s manor. Some were naked, but some wore some clothing, though it barely covered much of anything.

Illya was chosen because apparently, he was the most eye catching out of the three, which was very debatable because all three of them were extremely eye catching. But no, Gaby and Napoleon were given the role of his masters. They fit well in crowds like this, one that had great taste in beauty and the like. Which was insulting nonetheless. 

“Blond blue eyed beauties like you, Peril,” Napoleon explained with a hungry look in his eyes, “they are very popular, especially if that have that icy, cold look you have. It reminds me of the winters of your motherland. You are simply beautiful.”

Illya just growled in replied, upset that he was put into such a degrading position, and he looked to Gaby. She simply nodded, the same look in her eyes and a smile. 

So, two nights later, Illya was chained up against the wall with a collar around his neck, his hands bound together above his head and, unfortunately for him, naked. There was a bar attached to his knees, keeping his legs apart, which only added to his humiliation. He was left defenseless, unable to move, much less stop the wandering hands that came to touch his body.

The guests, or the buyers in this case, would praise his well - toned body and his handsome, youthful looks. Most of all, - Napoleon was right - they praised his icy, cold stare, a sign of defiance, which interest many of them. “I wonder who owns such a specimen,” a buyer asked amongst the other buyers, and Illya bit his lips hard to stay quiet, angry with humiliation. “I would like to buy him.”

“You disgust me,” Illya spit out, unable to stay quiet. That shocked a few buyers, angered others and intrigued the rest. 

“Merchandises do not speak,” said an angered buyer, reaching out to slap Illya, but a hand grabbed the buyer by the elbow. 

“If you like the use of your hands, Mister Giano,” said Napoleon, a narrowing look at the buyer, “you would best keep it from damaging my pet.” 

Gaby showed up on the other side of the angered buyer - who by now looked nervous - and clicked her tongue against her cheek. “Our pet, brother dear,” she said - her accent American to match Napoleon - with a smile, looking gorgeous in her navy blue evening dress. Napoleon matched her outfit in a three piece suit of the same blue shade. 

“Oh, of course “ Napoleon said, pretending to just remember that fact. He let go of the angered buyer, lifting an arm for his sister. Gaby gladly took it, and they walked towards their pet.

If he could have, Illya would have glared at the both of them. They seemed to be having fun on his account, but he remembered that he must play his part right or else the buyers would suspect something and this assignment would end in failure. 

“Hello, my Angel,” Gaby purred, reached to touch the Russian’s cheek. 

“Is he yours?” a woman asked, coming up. That was Madame Francine Bovary, a tall, thin woman aging gracefully and a member of the cabinet of the Prime Minister of France. “I don’t believe I have ever met the two of you before. I am Francine Bovary.”

“We have heard of you,” Napoleon said, taking the stage with his natural charm and smile. He took the woman’s hand and kissed her knuckles lightly. “I am Mark Helms, and this is my sister, April.”

“It is nice to finally meet you, Madame Bovary,” Gaby said, smiling as well. “And yes, Angel is ours. We bought him only two years ago in Russia, his homeland, and he has been a wonderful addition to our collection since. I believe that he’s the only one we kept for so long.” 

“I can see why,” Madame Bovary replied, a lustful look at Illya. “He is quite the pet. Have you grown tired of him, or are you just here to show him off?” 

“Definitely to show him off,” Napoleon replied, lifting Illya’s face by the chin. He leaned down for a kiss, which Illya gave in to without a fight. “April and I have great pride in our Angel, and we couldn’t resist showing him off to everyone. We hope to make everyone envious.”

“And I doubt that you’ll be happy with him long, Madame Bovary,” Gaby added, releasing Illya’s bound hands from the wall. Now Illya was on all fours, looking down to his embarrassment. “It took us a long time to break him in, and I think we did it in a way that he’ll only obey us now. He once bit the lips off a guest who thought it was okay to touch him.”

Several people in the crowd nearby shuttered and walked away, losing interest in such a violent beast. However, Madame Bovary did not, smiling at the mere thought of breaking in the creature on all fours. 

“May I touch him?” she asked politely. “Several others have before you two arrive, but I thought it would be better if I had permission from his owners first. I wouldn’t want to be so rude to a fellow owner.”

Napoleon frowned. “You let others touch you?” he asked, glaring at Illya who seemed to shrink away from the intensity. It was supposed to only be pretend, but it was Napoleon, not Mark, who was unhappy. 

Illya yelped when Napoleon slapped him on the ass, making him gasp in surprise. Napoleon slapped him again, harder, and Illya sucked in a breath at the slight sting. 

“What do you say, Angel?” Gaby asked, frowning as well. Not April either, but Gaby. She grabbed a handful of his blond hair, not too rough but not too lightly. 

“I’m sorry, Master, Mistress,” Illya breathed out, voice trembling. He wasn’t ready for such harsh treatment, but he managed to keep himself calm to remember their assignment. Several of the buyers in the room came closer to watch, all pleased.

“Apologies, Madame Bovary,” Napoleon said with a small, “but we don’t like it when others touch what is ours. It’s selfish of us, I know, but everyone have a possessive streak in them. We’re not perfect.”

“That’s understandable, Mister Helms,” Madame Bovary said with a hint of disappointment. Then she smiled.

“Perhaps, if you both are feeling up to it later, would it be such a disturbance if I came along just to watch?”

Gaby smirked, speaking before Napoleon had the chance. “We’ll have to see about that, Madame Bovary,” she said, winking at the older woman. “The night is still young, and we still haven’t seen our host yet.”

“Then maybe I should get Mister Chevalier to show up,” Madame Bovary said. “He hasn’t arrived yet and won’t for the next hour, but if he came earlier, it should sway your minds.”

Napoleon chuckled, kissing her knuckles again. “Most definitely,” he said, smiling into her hand. 

“I will see you three soon,” the French woman said, walking away, and buyers started talking amongst themselves of what transpired, curious and excited. Little by little, the crowd disappeared, waiting for their host to arrive. 

For the next twenty minutes, Illya watched silently on his hands and knees as Napoleon and Gaby talked to the other guests, all of whom were greatly charmed by the sister and brother duo. Fortunately, no one thought to even touch him anymore because his owners were standing nearby. 

A gong signalled the arrival of the esteemed host, and all the guests went up to greet him. By his side was Madame Bovary who looked over the crowd to Napoleon and Gaby, who smiled back from across the room. 

Gaby pressed the button on Illya’s collar as the host and the lady by his side came over to them. 

“Henry,” Madame Bovary said, introducing the host to the siblings, “this is Mark and April Helms. I just met them, and they brought the most wonderful pet to your party. Mark, April, this is Henry Chevalier.”

“Francine talked me into arriving early,” Chevalier said, nodding as he spotted the blond blue eyes slave chained to the wall. He grinned as he grabbed Illya’s face roughly, forcing the Russian to look up. “He is everything you said he was, my friend.”

The end of a gun pressed against the host’s heart. “And he is ours,” Gaby said, her usual accent back. She pushed him - and in turn, everyone else - a step back. “There is nowhere you can run. This entire place is surrounded by UNCLE agents, and we have pictures of everyone who entered the mansion. If you resist, there will be no hesitation to shoot you down.”

“This is outrageous!” Chevalier said, angry. “You’re bluffing.” 

“If you think so, take your chances, Mister Chevalier,” Napoleon said, covering Illya’s lap with his suit jacket. He had already released the Russian from his bonds, and Illya was sitting on the platform, waiting to get some pants to wear. “It’s too bad you won’t be with us later, Madame Bovary, but thank you for helping us.”

Madame Bovary snarled, absolutely angry for being deceived. 

Half an hour later, all the buyers were arrested and taken into custody of the French police and the slaves were released and taken to recuperate. By tomorrow, UNCLE will be putting in the effort to help them return home or start a new life. It was horrible what they went through, either being kidnapped from their beds or lured off the streets. 

“I’m going to get back at the both of you for this,” Illya said, now wearing pants and a shirt. 

“We might have gone a little overboard,” Napoleon said, kissing Illya’s palm. 

“But we couldn’t let anybody just touch what is ours,” Gaby finished, kissing him. The night was still young.


	3. They Spoil Him

Growing up, having too much was never a problem for Illya because rarely did he even have enough. When life got worse when his father was sent away, there was only his mother to support him and herself, and she did everything she could, going as far as to sell herself. Once, he insisted he did the same, but she refused and told him to never think that way again. 

“It’s a mother’s duty to do anything to protect her child,” she told him, holding him close, “and I haven’t done that duty well, my Illya, but I will never let you do that, even for me. I simply can’t stand it.”

When his mother died, Illya was left alone at the age of twelve, and he was one of the best in the KGB by twenty. Even then, he never had more than enough because he never desired anything more than enough. 

That was why Napoleon and Gaby took it on themselves to spoil him because they knew him, and Illya Kuryakin would never ask for more than he needed. But they managed, doing it in subtle ways that the Russian only noticed minutes after. 

-

These days, after becoming a part of UNCLE, Illya had found a lot of little pleasure that life had in store, like sitting under a tree with a book or lying on the grass at night to look at the stars or going shopping. Of course, he had had all those things before UNCLE, but he couldn’t deny that he found them more pleasurable after because he had someone else to do those things with. 

“Illya,” Gaby said, calling for his attention. They were in a clothing store in Austria, spending their free day after an assignment in the country before going back to London. She was holding a pale green backless summer dress in her right hand and a pale red on in her left. “Which one do you suppose fits me better?” 

“The green one,” Illya replied, deciding a long time ago that green was her color. 

“Good choice,” she said before disappearing into the dressing room. He waited for her patiently, looking around the store, until she reappeared, dressed in the summer dress. She spun around once with a smile. “It’s a good dress.”

“It looks very pretty on you, Chop Shop Girl,” Illya replied, letting himself smile. He held up a slim white belt, a pair of white flats and white sunglasses.

Gaby happily accepted them, putting them on before standing in front of a mirror. “They don’t match,” she commented, and Illya almost deflated sadly. “But they don’t even have to when they fit so well together. Napoleon better like this.”

Illya smiled. 

-

If there was one thing Illya had that was large, it was his appetite. He developed a love for food as he got older and began to eat more when he joined the KGB. Sometimes, when he got sent out of the motherland somewhere in Eastern Europe, he would always try to get his hands of the delicacies of that country. Most were absolutely delicious, a few never to be touched again and all in his stomach in the end. 

“I’m home,” Napoleon said as he opened the door, closing it behind him. In his hands, he was holding a few paper bags, most likely from a bakery. 

“Welcome home, Napoleon,” Gaby said, peeking out from the kitchen. It was her turn to cook dinner that night. 

“Welcome home, Cowboy,” Illya said. 

It was odd to do these greetings at the beginning, when they barely bought the apartment, but the novelty easily came off over the year and a half they’ve been together. It became easier to say such things that Illya no longer hesitate to say “Welcome home.”

“Here you go, Peril,” Napoleon said, leaning on one arm on the back of the coach Illya was sitting on. In his free hand, there was a small gingerbread man shortbread. 

Illya shook his head. “I don’t want to spoil Gaby’s dinner,” he said, turning back to his book. “Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to take an extra piece.”

Napoleon chuckled. “One little piece won’t do any harm, and I asked for a baker’s dozen, Illya. Gaby wouldn’t notice a thing, and I certainly won’t tell.”

Illya pursed his lips for a moment before surrendering, opening to his mouth to take the small gingerbread man. He lit up when he found it the right amount of sweetness, warmth and softness.


	4. They Never Leave Him Behind

There was only one time in their entire spy career that the team had broken rules and orders, and there was a lesson that all of UNCLE learned: it was either all or nothing.

“I’m sorry, Miss Teller, Mister Solo,” Waverly said, coming through the radio, “but it isn’t safe for the both of you to go and find Mister Kuryakin at the moment. The Hellnac group has taken part of the city already, and the local police will be attending to the matter. At the brink of a civil war, it isn’t a good time to get sentimental. Please, leave the city for 24 hours and you can go back. It would be bad if they caught two international agents at the beginning of a revolution.”

“Isn’t Illya an international agent too?” Gaby questioned.

“Yes, but I trust that he will find shelter to hide in and wait everything out.”

Napoleon hummed dubiously. “I’m glad you have such faith in Illya, Waverly,” he said, hand on the radio knob, “but I don’t trust the city enough to leave him alone.”

“Mister So-”

Waverly was cut off by Napoleon, who quickly looked over what they had left. The only true grace was that they all had a tracking device and that should make it easier to find the Russian, but there was a chance the device was there but not him. “Okay, we have about two hours before the whole city goes on the warpath,” the American said, putting ammo into his gun, “so we should hurry up.”

“Already done,” Gaby said, having everything she needed and the honing radar in her hands. “The signal is coming from northwest of the capitol building.”

It took them an hour to get there, and all they could find was Illya’s jacket where they found the device.

“Illya!” Gaby shouted around the alleyway. “Illya, are you here?”

“Peril!” Napoleon called out, looking the opposite way. Nothing. “Peril, we need to go! Gaby, did you find him?”

Gaby shook her head. “Illya, where are you?” she shouted even louder.

“Over here,” a voice replied, a little too quiet. They both looked up to see on the stairway of an apartment building their Russian partner. “You two are loud when we should be as quiet as possible.”

“Don’t worry about that, Peril,” Napoleon said as he quickly climbed up the stairs, Gaby right behind him. “Gaby, check on him and I’ll see what I can do about opening this window. I’m sure we’ll need a place to hide.”

Gaby merely nodded as she looked over Illya, checking over for any bruises, cuts or burns. “There isn’t anything I can see,” she said, but she looked expectedly at the Russian. “Something is wrong. What is it, Illya? Tell me.”

The Russian frowned, nearly crossing his arms in frustration, but Gaby’s stare got under his skin quick. “My right ankle,” he confessed, “I may have sprained it.”

“That isn’t too hard to fix,” Napoleon said, already done opening the window to an apartment room that was luckily empty and hopefully for the next two days. “Come on.”

Napoleon entered the apartment and gestured Illya to crawled through the window, and Illya did with a push from Gaby and was caught by the American who helped him inside. Gaby quickly followed, closing the window behind her as she checked that no one had spotted them.

“You two shouldn’t be here,” Illya complained from the couch, Napoleon lifting his sprained ankle onto a pillow. “It was foolish to come back.”

Gaby shrugged with a smile, sitting next to Illya and leaning her entire body on his chest. He was warm, and she could hear his heartbeat slowly.

“It just wouldn’t be right, Illya,” she said, burying her face in his neck and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “We couldn’t leave you behind. Napoleon and I rather stay with you than leave you behind, you crazy Russian.”

“And it’s a good thing too,” Napoleon said, placing a small bag of ice on the sprain. “Who knows who could have found you when we’re gone. I won’t risk that.”

Illya frowned, but he had arm around Gaby’s torso. When Napoleon came to sit on the floor, Illya let him hold onto his free hand. “It is still foolish,” he said, tone calm and collected. “Thank you.”


	5. They Are Protective

****The organization of UNCLE had done a lot of kindness for Illya, and Waverly was now a close and trusted ally. However, it didn’t mean much whenever he went with Napoleon and Gaby to report at the London headquarters because they were still a lot of people who thought he was a bastard for being a Commie. The Cold War was barely a few years old, and yet it was ingrained in many people.

“I wonder how many people he killed for his dear motherland,” an UNCLE agent whispered loudly in the café area. 

Illya remained seated, gripping the side of the table with a rage that made it whimper. Realizing what he had done, he let go of the table and went back to focus on his lunch. Why did he think it was a good idea to go anywhere in UNCLE? If he had Napoleon or Gaby with him, it would have been a lot better, but they were busy with Waverly and it was his regular routine to eat around this time if possible.

“I bet he killed children,” said a secretary, chuckling. A little of Illya’s anger defused and was replaced with shame and regret. He had killed a few children over the years, but never did he wanted to, truly. 

“Oh, guess what I heard,” said another UNCLE agent, her tone saying she found a great secret. Her friends told her to go on. “His father was sent to the gulags when he was a kid and his mother whored herself. I wonder which one he’s going to follow.”

That was the last straw, and Illya slammed the table and stood up. The gossipers gasped in shock. He turned around and saw that their table was wet with a sticky substance. Their lunches were ruined along with the papers and files they had besides them. Gaby stood behind them, holding an empty cup. “Oops,” she said, not even trying to hide her smile. “Sorry, I just felt like I had to do that.”

“Yes, it’s a shame to waste food like that,” Napoleon said, coming up beside her and striking up a match. Without a hint of guilt, the American dropped the little lit match onto the table, and the flame began to consume the top of the table. The gossipers yelped, frightened, and ran out of the café. 

Illya noted it was odd that the sprinklers had not respond to the smoke, but when he saw the mischievous smile on their faces, he knew what they did. “Mister Waverly will not like that you set his table on fire,” he stated. He was unable to keep the softness from his voice. “He’ll make us pay for that.”

“I don’t mind,” Napoleon said, taking one of Illya's arm like a lady would take a gentleman’s. Gaby took her place on the other side. “We might as well tell Waverly ourselves since we’re still here. These tables are horrible decor.”

“There is no need for that, Mister Solo,” said Waverly, appearing out of nowhere at the entrance of the cafe. His lips were thin, but he did not look too displeased. It was merely a front to show that he didn’t approve of the destruction of furniture. 

Waverly looked at the burning table, flames still devouring the top. “Somebody, please, get rid of that and replace the table,” he said, walking away. “Miss Teller, Mister Solo, Mister Kuryakin, go home before you cause any more destruction.”

“Only if necessary, Mister Waverly,” Gaby replied, a light tone in her voice but a warning nonetheless to everyone else. She turned to Illya. “Do you suppose you’re still hungry, Illya? You didn’t finish your lunch.”

“I wouldn’t mind eating some more,” Illya replied, a small and soft smile on his face. 

“Then go we shall, Peril, to lunch,” Napoleon said.


	6. They Adore Him

Over the past year and a half since he met the two of them, Illya had learned what it was like to be loved. At first, he didn’t know what to do with them because he had never been loved like this before. He had never been looked at those kind of eyes. His confusion made him feel childish at time, embarrassment taking over his face in shades of red, but he also learned that he couldn’t help but yearn for it.  

-

“Why do you look at me like that, Cowboy?” Illya asked, feeling small after an hour, It wasn’t the first time Napoleon stared at him for longer than necessary, but Illya had never asked him why before. It was an odd time to ask such a question during an assignment, but they were waiting for Gaby to come back with information she charmed out of their target. They had time.

Napoleon looked surprised, but he managed to collect himself with a smile. He leaned closer to the Russian on the bed, placing his head on Illya’s shoulder to continue looking at a much closer distance. “Look at you like what, Peril?” the American asked.

Illya looked away to the side. “Like I am a painting that caught your eye.”

“It sounds like you look at me too.”

Illya frowned, still not looking at his partner. “That does not answer my question, Cowboy.”

Napoleon chuckled, forcing Illya to look at him. “Why do I look at you like you’re a painting?” he asked like the answer was obvious. “I don’t, my Red Peril. I don’t look at you with fascination. I look at you with _love_ , and I don’t love paintings. I appreciate them, and I favor many, but I don’t love them. I love you.”

Illya heard his heart beating loudly in his ears, speechless. He was unsure of what to say, much less what to think. He cursed himself for not being ready for this, but then again, he never expected anything like this.

Luckily, words were not something he was known for, so he reached out to grabbed Napoleon by the face and filled his silence with a kiss.

-

His head was on her lap, and her hand was stroking his hair. Her touch was calming and soothing, a soundless lullaby that was lulling him to sleep.

“How could you touch me like this?” he asked, unaware of what he just asked. It was a wonderful feeling.

“What do you mean, Illya?” she asked, not stopping. There was nothing in his tone that told her to stop, so she didn’t.

“I have done many . . . bad things. Enough that I don’t deserve to be touched like this. It’s too kind. I am not a kind man.”

Gaby chuckled, finding his response too old for him. “I don’t know what you mean by that because you are kind, Illya. You have done a lot of things, but Napoleon and I have too. Do you think we don’t deserve to be treated kindly?”

Illya opened his eyes to look at her, wanting to let her know what he truly thought. “No, you deserve everything,” he replied, “everything that is good in this world.”

She smiled, tracing her fingers from his cheek to his collarbone. “So do you, Illya, and I want to give you all that too. Will you let me?”

He closed his eyes again, letting her caress his skin with a touch of kindness.


End file.
